BACK TO THE CAT'S BACK

June, July and, now, August (when I am writing this) have given us unparalleled days of hot sunny weather. So, why are we standing in the middle of Dingwall in steady rainfall and under leaden skies? It is because it is a Dinosaur summer walk, that's why.

We're also standing under the shadow of the MacDonald Monument in Mitchell Hill cemetery in Dingwall.

It may seem strange to erect such an imposing monument to a commissioned officer who committed suicide and was buried hastily in some disgrace. However, all is not as it seems. The monument commemorates Hector MacDonald, who rose from the rank of private to become Major General Sir Hector MacDonald, commanding officer of the Highland Brigade. He had enlisted in 1870 and shot himself in an hotel room in Paris in 1903.

The background to all of this was that MacDonald was a national hero, showing outstanding bravery in a number of fields of conflict. However, he was the son of a Black Isle crofter. He should never have become an officer - he had the wrong background and connections. In truth, he was just too common. Lord Kitchener, in particular, is said to have been jealous of his success and to have sought his removal from South Africa during the second Boer War.

MacDonald was accused of homosexual acts, while being stationed in Ceylon. After he had left Ceylon, the Governor had expressed the view that MacDonald's replacement should be someone with more acceptable ancestors.

In any event, the rumours regarding MacDonald began to surface and, fearing ruin to his reputation, he shot himself. The War Office sought to have him buried quickly in France and so hush up the matter. His file disappeared. It turned out he had been married and had a son. Further, later, investigation suggests the scandal was manufactured, probably by other members of the establishment. There was a huge outcry, especially in Scotland, as MacDonald was a war hero. He had even become an advertising face that we will all most certainly remember. He was the seated officer on the labels of bottles of (the unfortunately named in this circumstance) Camp Coffee. 

His body was brought back to Edinburgh, where he was buried and subsequently a number of memorials were erected to his memory. He may well have been one of the greatest soldiers produced by Scotland, but he is barely remembered today, so I thought it worth giving you a bit of background, seeing we were in Dingwall.

Meanwhile, we were milling about the car park below the memorial complaining about a bit of rain.

 We soon found some direction and went through a pend to the High Street, where the walk was to officially begin at the Town House. This originally dates from 1730-40, although the clock tower is a later addition.

From the High Street, we walk westward and come to the strangely named street of Ledvargid. This is a street name I was unaware of and it is strange to look at, not being obviously English or Gaelic. Perhaps it was Norse in origin, I thought, given Dingwall's huge importance as a Viking Ting (parliament) place.

It took a while, but I came across a fairly obscure reference that suggests it is Gaelic in origin. The name is thought to derive from Leathad a' Mhargaid - Market Slope. Certainly the street is on a slope which led to the former market in the town. If the Gaelic were spoken it would sound something like Layad a Varigid, which seems convincing enough to me as to how the street name appears as it is now.

Onwards and upwards we went and soon  were rewarded with a somewhat misty view of the Cromarty Bridge.

 I don't know why the ladies were so fascinated by the cows, although they were of the type that Pam prefers - behind a fence.

 By now we were at Knockbain Farm where Jimmy saw a sign that epitomised his new approach to a sugar free life.

Just around the corner from the arch were a couple of really nice murals.

Is the cyclist always pedalling into the wind, or is it behind?

 The views were getting a bit clearer, but this was only a temporary respite. There would be more rain and wetness to come. 

This turbine at Knockbain was the first in Scotland to be wholly owned by a co-operative.

There appeared to be some bees asleep on this thistle and on adjacent flowers. It was quite cool compared to recently, so sleep was a probable explanation. In fact, it is not uncommon for bees to sleep in or on flowers. They do this not only if cold, but also if they are caught outside their nest, or if they do not have a nest to go to.

Still a bit murky.

Heading towards Knock Farril

A glimpse of Loch Ussie, wherein the Brahan Seer is said to have thrown his oracle stone. He predicted it would be found in the gut of a fish and the finder would be endowed with second sight. I don't remember Sharon catching a fish there, but she seems to know everything I am going to do even before I do it.

Some nice flower heads in the garden of someone apparently called Susan.

He's a dark horse, that one.

Knock Farril and the prospect of lunch in the dry. 

The view towards Strathpeffer and the west - well it would have been but for the low cloud.

Castle Leod. This is the seat of the Clan MacKenzie and it can be no coincidence that the Chief of the MacKenzies in Outlander lives in the remarkably similarly spelt Castle Leoch. There is reputed to have been a castle here since Pictish times - spooky given we were looking at the castle from near to the ruins of a Pictish fort.

The present castle dates from the early 17th Century.

The site of the Pictish fort of Knock Farril.

The site of our lunch.

Knock Farril is thought to have belonged to a Pictish King and is one of the finest examples of a vitrified fort anywhere in the world! Vitrification is caused by extremely high temperatures resulting in rock melting and fusing together. To get such high temperatures, it is thought that timber was added to the fires and banked up so as to generate really high heat, causing the rubble centre of the defensive walls to melt. Some theorise that this was done to deliberately strengthen the walls, but I prefer the theory that goes along the lines of making sure the fort was properly and completely destroyed.

Either way, you can see the vitrification all around the ruined ramparts which are still visible.

This is more than can be said for Robin, who was in danger of disappearing into the mist.

The fort inside the walls.

Signs of vitrification.

Look closer!

No, closer still!

You can see why you might build a fort here - you can see for miles.

Even on a less than clear day.

A small, but select band.

 Onward and downwards. 

Into wet, in fact, soaking bracken.

 In fact, wet, soaking and very high bracken.

It was a bit like a cold Sumatran Jungle.

 We finally made it down the hill and stumbled across some tables and chairs of the future.

We deviated from the proscribed walk and ventured along the old railway line.

What it is supposed to have looked like. 

It isn't like that now!

The final uphill section towards Dingwall, the dry, and some tea & cakes.

Before we could get to the cars and cakes, we passed some odd sheep.

I did say at the time that I would try and identify these sheep. Have you any idea how many breeds of sheep there are? No?

Well, it seems there are at least 1000 breeds and there are more types of sheep than there are of any other livestock animals.

I gave up after looking at more sheep than is really good for my web-browsing history.

We made it past the sheep into Dingwall and along to the Courtyard, where we had a very, very nice selection of cakes and drinks, before going home to allow some of us to get dry.

Another good walk and thanks to Susan and Robin for organising everything except the weather and my waterproof trousers.